is right.

The Editor (controlling himself with difficulty). You are a weak man, I
know--

Evje. What do you mean?

The Editor.--but do not be weak this time! If you knew everything,
you would know you _must_ not refuse me what I ask. There are others
concerned--and for that reason--

The Doctor. Let us go!

Mrs. Evje. No, stay! He shall not have his way again.

The Editor. Well, of all--! It is certainly true that those who are
hardest on sinners are those who have never been tempted themselves--and
the most merciless creature in the world is an injured woman.

Mrs. Evje. Now he is coming out in his true colours!

The Doctor (not without glee). Yes, that he is!

The Editor (controlling himself once more). Evje--you, who know me, know
what it must cost me to do this--and you can form some idea of the need
I am in. I have never--

Evje. I believe you; but I never can feel sure what your next move will
be. You have so many.

The Editor. My next move is to have done with it all, as sure as--

Mrs. Evje. Don't believe him! A man who can ask for your sympathy
one moment and abuse you the next is not fit to promise anything--and
certainly not fit to be forgiven, either.

The Editor (with an outburst of passion). Then may everything evil
overtake me if I ever ask you or any one else for sympathy again! You
have succeeded in teaching me that I can do without it! I can rise
above your cowardly cruelty. (To EVJE.) You are a miserable, weak
creature--and have always been, for all your apparent good-natured
shrewdness! (To MRS. EVJE.) And as for you, who have often laughed so
heartily at my so-called malice, and now all at once have become so
severely virtuous--why, you are both like part-proprietors of my paper!
You have taken all the profit you could from me, as long as it served
your purpose--I have seen that for a long time! And all my pretended
friends are like you--secret holders of shares in me, so as to secure
their own safety and the persecution of others!--every bit as guilty as
I am, only more prudent, more timid, more cowardly--!

Evje. Once more--leave this house, which you have outraged!

Mrs. Evje. And how dare you set foot in here again?

The Editor. No, I am not going until all the anger that is in my heart
has turned into fear in yours! Because now I will _not_ have done with
it all! No--it is just through _his_ death that respect for me will
revive--it will be like a rampart of bayonets round